The story so far: 35 years ago a small Pakistani grill house called Tayyabs opened in London's Whitechapel. Over the years it expanded, becoming ever more sleek and modern in the process. Throughout, however, the food remained the thing: platters of mixed grills, smoking on their cast-iron hot plates; fabulous kebabs, dry meat curries and, best of all, their lamb chops, which became a cult. Tayyabs is the place for premium elbows-on-the-table, spice-on-the-cheeks bone nibblage. People come from far and wide to eat there, regardless of the queues and the brusque service, because the food is just so damn good, and relatively – in a city which thinks £14 for a plate of pork belly is a bargain (it isn't) – cheap.

But sometimes the thought of those queues is off-putting. I crave a Tayyabs hit without the hassle. I wants me some chops. Clearly I am not alone, for news that one of the managers at Tayyabs had opened his own place round the corner spread through the tandoori lamb-chop community like chlamydia through a hen night in Guildford. The Needoo Grill, I was told, was the thing because Ali, the man in charge, knows exactly what it is we want and is determined to give it to us. It is a bright and colourful space, all 1980s Athena-poster black and red, with an open kitchen upstairs and a cabinet full of marinating kebabs. It does not sell alcohol but they are happy for you to bring your own. Downstairs is the dining room, complete with widescreen TV noisily broadcasting speeches by imams on Peace TV.

The combination of that, and some stale poppadoms, put me in a gloom. Whatever I had been told, this wasn't methadone for the Tayyabs addict. It was barely cheap whizz. I wanted to be round the corner. Then our mixed grill turned up and things improved dramatically. Spiced, minced lamb Seekh kebabs were fresh and juicy, the crisp grilled exterior giving way to something altogether more intense inside. Hunks of chicken tikka were tender rather than hockey-puck hard, and underneath these were onions, caramelising on to the hot plate, which we scraped away at.

Next their version of the Daighi slow-cooked dry meat curry, which is a special round at Tayyabs and equally good here. The essential difference between French and Asian sauces is that while the French reduce theirs down from volumes of liquid, Indian and Pakistani sauces are built up, starting with the roasted spices, which are followed by a series of additions. This dish has always felt to me like a combination of the two, the sauce the lamb is cooked in first built up then used as a braising liquor and cooked down and down again until it is almost dry, the meat beginning to caramelise and perhaps even slightly to burn. (I say this in an admiring way; my favourite bit of the chilli I make at home is the dark, sticky, burnt layer on the bottom of the pan, where the sugars are really showing themselves.) A £5.50 portion is enough for one. Obviously, therefore, next time I must get the large for £11.

A butter chicken masala had a deep and intense sauce, soft with dairy fats, sprightly with fresh green herbs, loaded with meat which hadn't seized up in the process. Alongside this, a bowl of pale yellow dhal with a baby aubergine which had been roasted to baby-food softness was a welcome calming influence. Each of these dishes was distinct and idiosyncratic, which isn't always the way in London's curry houses. You think you've ordered a bunch of different things, but what turns up is a whole load of dun-coloured stews that taste the same. Not here.

The sharp-eyed among you, the ones who are not dribbling on to their duvet right now, will have noticed an omission. I have said nothing about the lamb chops. That's because, damn it, they weren't very good. The marinade was there, nicely blackened after a turn in the tandoor, but the meat was cut too thinly and was tough, and there was none of the crisped fat you need to lubricate the experience. No matter. There really are other great things to recommend the Needoo Grill. Meanwhile, I've heard a rumour. There's this guy. Used to run a restaurant out in Wembley where the chops were, if it's imaginable, even better than at Tayyabs. Meaty. Cut thick. The Wembley business went bust. Now he's cooking in the basement of some hotel in Harrow. Don't know where – but trust me, I'm going to find him.★